


but he's still left with his hands

by nahiko



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mental Anguish, Sad, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, if you squint really really hard you may find hints of kuroo/tsukishima too, no actual romance, rated M because of the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:51:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahiko/pseuds/nahiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter how hard he tells himself otherwise, his own emotions were something Tsukishima could never quite control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but he's still left with his hands

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the poem The Boot Theory, from Richard Siken ("A man takes his sadness down to the river and throws it in the river / but then he’s still left /with the river. A man takes his sadness and throws it away / but then he’s still left with his hands.").
> 
> This is really not ok, but I'm really not ok right now, so. I'm sorry.
> 
> If you find any mistakes, or if you think I should tag something, please, let me know.

Yamaguchi rambles. He never stops rambling. He talks about himself, and about them, and about frivolous things and music and school and everything, everything, everything. He talks and his voice echoes around Tsukishima, a form of life itself, an almost comforting presence that is always there. He has a really sof, exquisitely beautiful voice, too, melodic, that not ever so gracefully leaves his lips, but manages to resemblance the feeling of "home", in all kind of weird ways.

Most of time, it’s okay for him to ramble. He’s not as annoying as anyone else. But there are times when he sounds too eager, too excited, too emotional — and Tsukishima wants to throw up, he wants to Yamaguchi to shut up.

 _It doesn’t matter_. _It doesn’t_. It’s not like he wants anyone to care, it’s not like _he_ cares, and Yamaguchi shouldn’t look so sad.

 

* * *

 

Karasuno makes him feel empty. With his cheerful teammates, annoying brats too enthusiastic to their own good, and Suga-senpai’s soft eyes, and Daichi’s worry, and _too much, too much_. They’re just too much for Tsukishima to like them, because it’s so meaningless. Useless. Worthless. All their effort, all their strength — what do they want him to do? He’s not like them, he’ll never be like them, not anymore, he doesn’t want to try, doesn't even want to try.

Karasuno makes him feel empty — but it’s not like he already didn’t feel like this.

 

* * *

 

Kuroo is a sneaky bastard, and Tsukishima hates him.

He hates how Kuroo’s words get under his skin, crawling like worms, and settle down somewhere deep inside. Hates how Kuroo manages to get something bubbling up at the pitch of his stomach, something pathetic and despicable, something that _hurts_ when nothing hurt him anymore. Hates how Kuroo can so easily make his blood boil and make him want to scream.

_Don’t talk to me like that. You don’t know a thing._

Tsukishima hates him. Hates him. Hates him.

 

* * *

 

Tsukishima’s mind wanders to and through places his thoughts shouldn’t be, but he doesn’t stops, because it’s not something he can control.

_Not quite good enough. Not quite working hard enough. Not quite intelligent enough. Not quite enough but if at least — stopstopstop._

Tsukishima sighs, his cold, trembling hands closing maybe a bit too tightly around his pillows.

No matter how hard he tells himself otherwise, his own emotions were something he could never quite control.

 

* * *

 

 _This is it_ , he thinks. The decisive — changing — point.

There’s the razor, and there’s the pills, and there’s the sound of the water falling in the sink. There’s no one home and he’s hidden inside the bathroom, breathing too heavily, clutching to his chest too eagerly, crying maybe a bit too hard, maybe a bit too loud, maybe a bit _too much_.

 _Do it_ , he thinks.

But his hand’s trembling and his head hurts and he can’t see straight. And he wants it to stop, he wants the emptiness to go away, he wants the sadness to go away, he wants everything to go away, but he keeps thinking about his family and about the people that know him — but they don’t know him, don’t know him, none of them knows him —, and he can’t bring himself to do it, can’t bring himself to end it.

“He was a good kid”, his parents would’ve said, clinging to each other, while his teammates stumbled upon words, trying to describe a boy that they didn’t really knew, a boy that never let them get close enough. Akiteru would probably be too mad, too sad, why not?, too confused to say anything — drowning inside his own mind. And Yamaguchi — oh, Yamaguchi — would be the only one to know what to talk, but he wouldn’t do it, because his voice would break while trying to find the words, because he’s had always been way too sensitive.

Kei sobs quietly.

 

* * *

 

His eyes wander slowly.

The bottle in his hands.

The sink.

The bottle in his hands.

The sink.

The bottle in his hands.

 _Whatever_ , Tsukishima thinks, and throws the pills through the drain.

Whatever.

 

* * *

 

“Tsukki?”

Kei closes his eyes, begrudgingly holding the sigh that rises to his throat.

Too sad, too sad, Tsukishima doesn’t want him to be sad. He doesn’t want _anyone_ to be sad. He’s a liar, and a coward, and he doesn’t want to hurt them.

Damn him.

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”


End file.
